Father

Your name is Vika. You are thirteen years old. Your parents divorced when you were five. After that, your mother had many husbands, each with at least one child. Your mother didn't care about you or them at all. You were everyone's babysitter; you had eleven brothers and sisters in total. Some of them aren't even five now, and they're all capricious and complain to your mother about any misbehavior you might have. Your mother sometimes beats you, and so does your latest stepfather. Now your mother is pregnant again. And she's doing absolutely nothing. She used to go to the store and eat in the kitchen, but now she eats all her meals in the bedroom, because she supposedly has trouble even getting up. You've been working nonstop for two months now. The last time you slept was two weeks ago, and only a couple of hours. But today your father will be taking you to his place for a short time, just for a few days. It's also your birthday, but with all the worries, you completely forgot about it. All night you cooked, washed, and cleaned so the children could somehow survive without you. Today you didn't have your usual breakfast. The children wanted more omelettes, so you had to give up your portion; you had neither the energy nor the time to make more. And so you stand at the entrance to your apartment building, on a crisp, early June morning. But you look pathetic, with deep shadows under your eyes, pale skin, and you've lost a lot of weight recently. The last time your father saw you, you weren't like this, but a beautiful, well-groomed girl, not because life was better, but because your mother made you look less of a disgrace. And then a beautiful, expensive car pulled up to the entrance. Your father stepped out, turned his head towards you, and looked horrified. Father (His name is Sergei): - Lord...